


The Missing Puzzle

by 13thJaguar



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crime, Drama, F/M, Mystery, Slueth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thJaguar/pseuds/13thJaguar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes makes an unlikely companion, to a young teenaged private detective named Nancy Drew. However, they meet a crazy socialite named Natalia Ramos, along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From LAX, To Heathrow

I looked out my window and saw a taxi cab parked in front of my Californian mansion. I heard a few knocks on my door, then the bass-pitched turn of the door knob, followed by a hand reaching for the side of the door, pushing it open. “Nancy, a cab is waiting here for you,” the housemaid, Ms Gruen said, as I rolled my eyes, giving her no respect whatsoever.

“Do you ever knock?” I muttered.

“Pardon?

 _Her voice went up_. I turned around and folded my arms.

“Well, whatever is it, Nancy. I'm just here to tell you that your father is waiting for you, downstairs.”

I took one good look at her. It was clear to me that Ms Gruen was more than just a housemaid to my dad now, than ever before. When I saw her wearing glossy pink lipstick and an outfit that was close to my mom's, I swore that she was more than just an employee, but I might be wrong. “He is,” I said, eyeballing her hands from right under her nose. _There's no ring on her finger_. “Could you just tell him that...” If she's not going to be my _new_ step-mom, than what is she to him now, because there can only be one explanation, as of why she's dressed all fancy. “That I'll be down in a few?”

“He wants you downstairs now, Nancy. No _excuses_!”

I held the train of insults running through my brain in, before she could lead the way out of my bedroom. At least, that's what I thought that she was doing. I quickly put on a smile on my face, before walking down the steps hall. I saw frames and frames of images, as I made my way towards to flights of stairs. I took a step back, as I started to hear voices. The voice of my dad, and the voice of someone else. “C'mon Nancy,” I encouraged myself, to walk down the stairs.

The bass-pitched turn of the door knob caught my eye.

“I'm sure that my daughter would jump to the chance of meeting your brother,” I heard my dad say, before walking out of his office.

“Insightful, Carson.” At that very moment, my dad would take his time to respond, or wait for another to form on the person's lips. “My brother will too be delighted to see your daughter.”

I quickly passed the portrait of my dad and I, as I ran down the stairs. I saw a tall man standing beside my dad. He had a suit on, but it wasn't an American brand that my dad would normally come across in Men's Warehouse. I smiled at both of them like I was greeting them.

“Mr Holmes, this is my daughter, Nancy,” my dad said with a small gesture. “Nancy, this is MI6 agent Mycroft Holmes.”

“Ah, it's a pleasure to meet the Nancy Drew.” He placed his hand in front of him. I, ontheotherhand, took a glance at his hand, before folding my arms.

“Point taken,” I snapped. “And judging from your last name, Mr Holmes. You must be Sherlock's-”

“Brother?”

My dad placed his thumb and pointer finger on his temple. “I'm sorry about my daughter, Mycroft. She could be rather...”

“Nosey,” my dad and Mr Holmes say in unison.

“No need to apologize, Carson. My brother can too be rather nosey at times, but I learned to grow into it,” he said, turning his head, and looked at my dad, then turned his head and gave me a look that gave out a mysterious vibe. “And yes, Nancy. _Sherlock_ is my brother.”

 _I wrote an essay entirely on detective work using his blog, as a source_. “Well, have a safe trip back to England, Mr Holmes. And send my regards to Sherlock.” I smirked. _What a push-?_

“Woah. Woah,” my dad interrupted my thoughts. “He's not leaving California without you, Nancy.” I narrowed my eyes and heard Ms Gruen dragging a suitcase down the stairs. “You're coming with him.”

I swallowed. “Fine,” I muttered, loud enough that they could hear, every letter that I had to say. “I'll just go and pack then, dad.”

“No need,” my dad replied. “I think that Hannah already did that for you.” Hannah was Ms Gruen's first name. She was only twenty-two years old, when she first step foot in this house. The house that my dad and I calls home. I quickly grabbed the suitcase from Ms Gruen's hands, and Mr Holmes headed towards the door. “Nancy, your tickets are in the front pocket of your suitcase,” he said. “Have fun.”

“But not too much,” I said, before smiling at my dad and walking out the door, closing it behind me. I took out my cellphone and began to text Bess and George.

 

 _I'll see you guys, whenever I have free time in England_ ~Nancy x

 

“Get in the car, Ms Drew.” I heard Mr Holmes say, as I looked up from my cellphone.

“I will,” I said, “no problem, Mr Holmes.” I placed my cellphone in my pocket. The car was heavily tinted in the back two rows of the car, but the driver's row only had lighter tint shade, which could only mean that the person seated in the back two rows is of importance. Or works for the government. _Mr Holmes works for MI6?_ “Shut up!” I shock my head in disbelief and walked towards the car. I moved my eyes and saw the word Cadillac on the step in shining silver letters. I opened the car door and took a seat beside Mr Holmes, and closed the car door next to me. And buckled myself in.

“So, how did you know about my...brother?” Mr Holmes said, making a slight eye contact.

“It's really not that complicated, Mr Holmes,” I said without caution. “I read your body language, when I mentioned his name to you. You were very irritated by the subject of your brother. So, maybe I should stop now.”

 

-*-*-*-*-*-

 

I gave the hostess the ticket going from LAX, to Amsterdam International Airport. She took my ticket from my hand and began to scan it into a small scanner, invisible to the passengers that's boarding the plane. The hostess had on a ring on her ring finger and another ring on her middle, which can only tell anyone smart enough to look at her hands. That she's married.

I saw her arm straighten, as she gave me back the ticket. “Have a safe flight,” she smiled.

“Thank you,” I said, walking towards the opened double doors. “And good luck on your marriage!”

 

-*-*-*-*-*-

 

I followed Mr Holmes off the plane with my suitcase rolling steadily behind me. We walked all the way towards the restrooms. Mr Holmes turned around and gave me a pair of sunglasses, before walking into the Men's restroom without any explanation. I took a step back and looked at the poster in front of me in another language. Dutch. Before going inside the Women's restroom, and changing into a blue-gray dress and a pair of black high heels. I walked towards the mirror, popping on the sun-glass that Mr Holmes unexpectedly gave to me. I turned myself, slightly, fixing my dress. “Showtime,” I said, grabbing my suitcase and walking out of the women's, dragging my suitcase behind me. I saw Mr Holmes at the opposite side of the room. I walked towards him, and gave him my last plane ticket – the one that was kept in the front pocket of my suitcase. “What's the plan, Mr Holmes?”

He took the ticket, right out of my hand. “What made you think, there's a plan?” he said, cautiously, after looking once him. “And it's dad, until you get to Baker Street.”

“Whatever you say, Mr Holmes.”

“It's Michael and Natasha Dalton,” he said. “Here's your temporary passport.” He handed me the passport. A British passport. “And this is your boarding pass.”

I took a glance at the boarding pass. It reads: _Dalton Airlines Gate 26D. MI6 protected_. I grabbed my suitcase from behind me, and dragged it towards me. _I'm traveling in a flying prison_. “I'll see you back home, father,” I acted, putting on a British accent.

 

When I got close to get twenty-three, I heard a muttered Dutch announcement, which was followed by an English translation. And I heard the name Natasha Dalton, during both announcements. I quickly hurried my way towards gate twenty-six D, dragging my suitcase along with me.

“Ms Dalton,” the hostess said, trying to speak English. “I hope you, enjoyed your stay in Amsterdam.” I turned my head and gave her a smile, before walking to my seat.


	2. Baker Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The name's Sherlock Holmes. And the address is 221B Baker Street." ~ Sherlock Holmes

“Wake up, Ms Dalton.” I heard a voice say, and felt a hand started to shake me. I slightly turned my head, as I opened my eyes. “Welcome home, Ms Dalton,” she said with a smile on her face.

I looked over to the window and the empty seat next to me. I reached for the blinds and raised it up. I started to see the plane lowering itself from the clouds, and gliding over the cityscape in search for the airport. When the plane landed, I got out of my seat and walked out of the plane with the hostess following behind me, dragging my suitcase behind her. I led her towards the restrooms. “Thank you for your assistance,” I said, “but I'll be fine from here.”

About half-an-hour later, I found myself looking in the mirror, staring at my own reflection. _Why can't I do this?_ I turned the faucet on and began to wash my hands.

 

* _Watson's POV_ *

I got out of the car, and checked my mobile phone for a text that one of Mycroft's people had sent. And there is was. One unread message.

 

 _Baggage claim 8. And make sure Sherlock is there with you_ – Mycroft

 

I turned around and saw Sherlock with his feet up. “Sherlock, come on. Don't you want to meet your student?” I said, taking a step towards the car.

“As if I don't have anything more to deal with, John,” he said. “I'm not everyone's _personal_ babysitter.”

I heard Mary unbuckle her seat belt and grab her gun from the storage compartment in front of the passenger seat. She turned around, and pointed the gun at him. “Go with him, Sherlock,” she said with a demanding tone in her voice.

Sherlock sighed. “Fine!” He sat up and got out of the car. He walked towards the building, leaving me to close the car door for him, for the third time today. I waved goodbye to Mary, then followed Sherlock into the building.

 

* _Nancy's POV_ *

I stood by carousel eight, and waited for my ride to Baker Street. As I waited, I saw a tall man with brown hair and blue eyes, standing in front of me. I paniced and quickly led my eyes towards my suitcase.

“Like talking candy from a baby.” I heard him say, as he grabbed my suitcase and read the label. “Nancy Drew!”

“In the flesh,” I said. “Now, give me my suitcase, or I'll call the cops.”

“Lestrade is too foolish to deal with situations like this.”

I shock my head and walked away. _Was that Sherlock Holmes?_ I shock my head again in disbelief. And walked towards arrivals. I looked around me and saw a crowd of people with film cameras, taking pictures. A ton of pictures.

“Ms Dalton. Ms Dalton,” one of them shouted, through the chatter of people asking questions. “Ms Dalton.” I heard for the final time, before turning my head around slightly. There, I saw a short guy, roughly about five foot six inches, five foot eight inches tall and about forty years old. “Nancy!”

I fought my way through the crowd. And I saw the tall guy again, standing next to the short forty year old guy. I saw the tall guy give me a judging look on his face. His eyes started to analyze my image. “You look like you're about twenty-three, but you're clearly just sixteen,” said the tall guy.

“I'm nineteen to be exact, Mr smart-ass!”

 

Nancy 1: Sherlock 0

 

-*-*-*-*-*-

 

I placed my suitcase on top of the kitchen table, and looked around the room. Mess was everywhere, cluttered across the entire apartment. “So, this is Baker Street,” I said. “221B Baker Street. London, England.” I made myself sound, like I didn't care about the pigsty that was surrounding the only clean area, in the apartment. The kitchen table.

“Sorry about the mess,” the old man said. “I'm John Watson, by the way.”

I placed my sunglasses on top of the kitchen table. And gave them both a look that could easily make or break a relationship. “Nice to meet you, John,” I said, heading towards the living room. I saw the tall guy sitting on a leather arm chair. He wasn't even moving or listening into my conversation with John Watson, nor was he even talking to anyone but himself, just as Mr Holmes described that he would do. “Sherlock.”

He stood up from a leather arm chair, probably analyzing my every move. “So, who are you really? Natasha Dalton? Or the amateur sleuth that I'm supposed to teach?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Either way, your a bit over-dressed to be Nancy Drew.”

 _How rude?_ “You can thank your brother,” I muttered.

“I never thanked, Mycroft.”

“I can see that.”

“Your father's a lawyer. He's new girlfriend is the young house keeper.” Sherlock sat back down and turned his head to look at John Watson, then turned it again to look at me. “Should I continue? Because I know so much more,” he said, fixing the sleeves of his suit,” than what your used to.”

“Sherlock,” John Watson exclaimed. “Give the kid some space.”

“It's ok, John,” I said, as I tossed my purse at Sherlock's face. And sat down on the sofa. “But he's wrong about one thing.” Sherlock and John Watson gaze was planted on me, alertively. “My dad is an attorney, not a lawyer.” I smirked. “He has an entire company behind him.”


End file.
